


My Dear Companion

by compo67



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Practical Magic Fusion, Angst, Bottom Jared, Come Marking, Coming Untouched, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Birth Scene, Halloween, M/M, Male Lactation, Marking, Massage, Mpreg, Multiple Orgasms, Near Death Experiences, Nipple Play, Pregnancy, Pregnant Jared, Pregnant Sex, Self-Lubrication, Smut, Spells & Enchantments, Top Jensen, Topping from the Bottom, Witches, based on a movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8441671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: Since inheriting his family’s hundred year old orchard property, Jared has always kept three bundles of hyssop and pennyroyal in all four corners of the house, and three above the front door frame. And when it came to preparing spells, he did three at a time, one by one of course, but always in threes to keep the energies positive. It makes sense then, that when good things come in threes, he's greatly surprised three times over.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rieraclaelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rieraclaelin/gifts).



Good things come in threes.

Since inheriting his family’s hundred year old orchard property, Jared has always kept three bundles of hyssop and pennyroyal in all four corners of the house, and three above the front door frame. And when it came to preparing spells, he did three at a time, one by one of course, but always in threes to keep the energies positive. 

He buried his mother underneath three of his favorite apple trees in their family burial plot. They spent time there together, so he’d never fear visiting her or the rest of their ancestors. Death was not something she taught him to dread. Their dead were at rest, where they belonged. And though he grieved her absence in his life, he kept their house safe. He tossed spilt salt over his left shoulder, kept fresh rosemary tied to the garden gate, and planted lavender for good luck. 

Their home was simple and comfortable. He never wanted for flannel throws or oversized cable knit sweaters with sleeves big enough to hide packets of tea and herbs inside.

And when he met Jensen, he kept his hair long and made fresh coffee for them each morning. 

Jared doesn’t believe in accidents. 

“Convenient,” Jensen laughs, cleaning up the bowl of cereal Jared dropped a minute ago. Soaked Cheerios and almond milk litter the gray tile floor. “So I guess it was fate that did this?”

Jensen stands up, narrowly missing a bundle of rosemary to the forehead. Bundles of drying herbs would normally be hung from a rack above his workshop table in the greenhouse. A few of those bundles date back to Jared’s great-great-grandmother, who was a master at arranging herbs for spells, potions, and charms. It was said that she could cleanse an aura in sixty seconds flat. Jared transported those herbs to the tops of the oak cabinets in the kitchen. The rest, he and Jensen spent an afternoon tying from the pot rack above the expansive kitchen island. 

“It was meant to be,” Jared quips, straightening out his caramel sweater. “I think my sweater shrunk in the wash.” 

With a smile, Jensen nods. “Or the owner of it grew.” 

“I’ve hardly grown at all.” Jared looks down at his middle. 

Synonyms pop into his head: huge. Rotund. Generously ample. Adorably massive? He had the pregnancy glow for the first two out of three trimesters. As soon as he rounded the corner into the third, he lost the glow and his patience for housing three little witches that refused to let him sleep. Nine months hadn’t seemed like an eternity when Jensen took him to his first midwife appointment back in April. They went into the appointment with Truvy excited and positive. They were going to raise a tiny human. They were going to raise a witch with Jared’s talent at nature magic and Jensen’s skill at potions. 

At the doorway to Truvy’s, three crab apples fell from Truvy’s wreath above her doorway. Jared took it as a sign of exceptional luck--luck in threes--and his mother’s blessed presence. 

He thought it would be a sign of three good trimesters. 

What it actually meant was triplets. 

“Hardly,” Jensen responds, his voice filled with remarkable patience. Summertime was in no way easy for either of them--humidity, their first pregnancy, and triplets. Somehow, despite the heat, the humidity, and three in the morning cravings for apple slices, caramel, and marshmallows, Jensen still cleans up anything on the floor. It’s been a long, long time since Jared has seen his feet. 

Shards of porcelain rest in the deep double sink. Jared peers in. 

“You’re not going to try and piece it together, are you?” 

“It’s an art.” 

“It’s a bowl. I broke it.”

“And I’ll fix it.” Jensen bumps their shoulders together. He brushes a few tiny shards of porcelain off of his hands and switches to the other side of the sink to wash up. With soap on his hands, he leans over and pecks Jared on the cheek. “I should do  _ something  _ for you, you know, since you’re carrying our children.” 

Jared frowns and sighs. “I suppose. But I kind of wanted a massage. Can I trade in for that instead?” He hands Jensen a kitchen towel.

After quickly drying his hands, Jensen gently places his right hand over a specific spot on Jared’s neck. Life flows here, direct and unobstructed, through the carotid artery. Magic doesn’t only happen with herbs and potions. Jensen’s left hand settles over the apex of life times three, the warm, large palm of his hand cupping the curve. 

“I can do both,” Jensen murmurs. 

A smile graces Jared’s face in spite of his near constant back pain, none of his clothes fitting, even the maternity stuff, and the chill of late October outside. 

“Both sound great.” 

*

There is no devil in Jared’s magic. 

That isn’t to say there is no devil at all. 

And the devil as a singular entity does not exist. His mother explained it as energy older than humans. Humans overall don’t feel these energies. Even before the Industrial Revolution, humans just didn’t have the capacity to realize what was around them, unseen. 

The humans that can see, feel, and work alongside these energies are amongst Jared’s blood. And Jensen’s, too. Neither of them come from large clans like the Mayfairs, and neither of them would welcome that kind of attention anyway. Too many questions. Too many opportunities for the wrong kind of energy to slip in. 

Light cannot exist without dark. 

Nature understands that. Humans have a tougher time. 

“I’m  _ this _ close to running out of the pumpkin lotion,” Jensen announces, stepping into their bedroom. He carries over a wicker basket of massage supplies--all of them handmade with his own ingredients and recipes. For Jared’s birthday this year, he crafted edible sugar scrub in rainbow colors. Jared ate through the tiny circular containers of raspberry, blueberry, orange, lemon, mint, and blackberry. 

“This is the time of year.” Jared spreads out on their bed, unmade from this morning. He hasn’t yet figured out a spell to make the bed make itself. Yet. Though logic tells him his energy should be spent on devising spells on diaper changing. 

“Mm. I hate the stuff.” 

“What if one of our kids demands pumpkin spice lattes when they’re older?” 

“They’re out the door.”

“Harsh, Jensen.”

“Listen, we’re a hot chocolate family.” 

Jared laughs and stretches, then struggles to sit up. But he can’t miss the whole massage process, which includes watching Jensen prep. Every Christmas, Jared refills Jensen’s apothecary set. Jensen sits on the edge of the bed, basket in his lap, and does a quick inventory. With his hands propped up on his belly, Jared observes what needs refilling the most. There’s goat milk powder, which Jared buys locally from their neighbor, Heron. Olive oil, which Jared snags from Truvy, who deems herself Jared’s favorite biracial, Black-Italian, Muslim witch and midwife. She’s the only biracial, Black-Italian, Muslim witch and midwife Jared knows, but that’s beside the point. She brings back exactly three bottles of olive oil from her family’s estate in Tuscany and shares one with Jared to give to Jensen. 

Then there’s rose water, glycerin, beeswax, rice bran powder, honey, aloe water, French green clay, coconut oil, and apple cider vinegar, which Jared made himself. 

And, last but not least, a bottle of lavender lotion Jensen made for Jared and the babies. The recipe has been in Jensen’s family for generations, along with the spell added to it. He only makes it under specific circumstances, with ingredients his ancestors would deem fit. 

His creations keep the utilities paid. Jared tries each of them as they come into creation: black walnut salve, therapeutic bath soaks, yellow birch balm, and vanilla lip balm. Fortunately, both of their professions can be done from home. Jared edits recipes and spells for witches across the country, and sends them small packets of herbs grown in a separate plot in the greenhouse, made specifically for sharing. 

“How do you want me?” Jensen warms his hands with an oil mixture also made and reserved for only Jared. 

With a grin, Jared quips, “Any way I can.” 

Good potions follow simple recipes. The quality of ingredients and the intent of the creator matter more. What they put out into the universe will come back three fold. Jensen doesn’t make potions for the purposes of jealousy, forced love, or material wealth. And he’ll never sell a bottle of rose water and call it one of those three things. But when people ask what’s in his bottles, he’s honest. His healing potion includes a soothing spell cast while mixing a liter of vinegar, one head of garlic with the root end sliced off, a handful of dried helichrysum arenarum, and a pinch of pine needles. 

A little bit of this, a little bit of that. 

Nothing too fancy, really.

But his hands, whether brewing potion, making coffee, or warming his hands with oil, add something unique--too unique to be bottled. 

Jensen places his hands over Jared’s, still on his belly. He sits across from Jared and leans forward to kiss the space between their hands. The cable knit sweater doesn’t detract from feeling the energy of that kiss. Looking up, green eyes reflect a hunger and adoration Jared only hopes he returns in kind. 

Right hand first, Jensen starts, sliding his hands over Jared’s. He works out tension from the tips of Jared’s fingers. And kisses the top of his each hand before pushing the sweater up and over his middle. A chill drifts over his exposed skin, but Jensen’s hands soon sweep it away. He rubs three wide circles, reaching from side to side and over and under. Three clockwise. Three counterclockwise. 

Everything has balance. 

Jared’s belly shines, brilliant and heavy between the two of them. Lotion--and a tiny bit of spell work--has prevented deeper stretch marks. 

They were expecting one and were blessed with three. 

Jensen works his hands out, reaching around Jared’s waist, towards the small of his back. They could do this chest to back. But Jared prefers this. He settles his legs over Jensen’s thighs. For their mouths to meet requires constant effort on both their parts, but the effort pays itself off in the first few deep, sweet kisses. Jared’s eyes close. He moans into Jensen, their tongues slick and lips fused. 

Firm fingers tease out the knots in Jared’s back. Jensen pauses, just a second, and adds lotion to his hands. He smooths over the horizontal stretch marks that line across and over the small of Jared’s back. With care, his hands glide forward, back to Jared’s belly to add a coat of lotion there. 

Heat builds in Jared’s hips and underneath his sweater. His cock strains against the underside of his wide belly and the confines of his favorite flannel pajamas pants. He lets out a whimper the second Jensen’s teeth graze over his bottom lip. 

A smile presses into Jared’s dimples. 

Their hands join together on the top curve of Jared’s stomach. Jensen kisses each dimple before pressing his mouth against Jared’s belly button, long since popped out. Jared inhales, sharp and sudden, and squeezes Jensen’s hands. 

The voice that fills their cozy room cannot be bottled, replicated, or shipped. 

Deep and rich like the molasses he uses in strength potion, Jensen sings. 

“Oh have you seen my dear companion, for he was all this world to me. I hear he’s gone to some far country and that he cares no more for me.” He holds each note steady, level. “I wish I were a swallow flying. I’d fly to a high and lonesome place.” Clockwise. Counterclockwise. “I’d join the wild birds in their crying, thinking of you and your sweet face.” 

They know the honeyed rumble of his voice. 

“Oh have you seen my dear companion. For he was all this world to me. But now the stars have turned against me. And he cares no more for me. Oh when the dark is on the mountain. And all the world has gone to sleep. I will go down to cold dark waters and there I’ll lay me down and weep.”

Lips softer than any scrub could create press against Jared’s for a brief second. 

Their fingers slot together. 

“Oh have you seen my dear companion. For he was all this world to me.” 

Jared’s right hand lays over a particular spot on Jensen’s throat. Carotid artery. His left stays locked with Jensen’s over his belly. 

“Don’t make me cry,” Jared whispers, sniffling already. He bumps their foreheads together. Darkness has to exist with light. But that doesn’t mean he has to like it. 

“It don’t take much, Jay,” Jensen whispers back. “You cried when I lit candles last night.” 

“Oh.” Tears fall. “Why did you remind me?” 

He can sob for an hour and he knows that Jensen would massage him to sleep, and be there with chamomile tea and biscuits when he wakes up. But he doesn’t want to cry and he doesn’t want to sleep. He wants Jensen pressed against him as close as possible. 

“I’m so…” Jared cuts off Jensen’s apology with a kiss. He breathes power into his partner, grips him by his gray Henley. Confident, unbreakable relief seeps past fabric, skin, muscle, and tissue. 

Magic isn’t all brooms and full moons and midnight casting. 

Sometimes it’s just the way gravity works with them. Jared lies Jensen down. 

This house is no stranger to them. Its walls contain the leftover echoes and energies. Soon enough, it’ll know the noises and sounds of its next generation inhabitants. 

For now, Jared takes advantage of their soon to be limited privacy. He runs his hands over Jensen’s chest, fingers dragging, and grinds his hips down. The underside of his belly bounces against the strip of exposed skin above Jensen’s hip bones. Jensen arches his hips up, reciprocating every rock forward and backward, and Jared moans at the pressure against his cock. One tilt pushes the curve of Jensen’s cock hard against Jared’s ass and they both let out gasps. 

“Come here,” Jensen pants, pulling Jared closer by his sweater. “C’mere.” 

“Can’t.” Jared shudders from the sound of Jensen’s voice, desperate and dark. 

This doesn’t stop Jensen from trying. Once. Twice. On the third strike, Jared’s belly wins, too large for them to meet in the middle for a kiss. Jared laughs softly and shakes his head. For Jensen, he’ll try. But he’s one week away from his due date and over the course of the past nine months he hasn’t denied himself any of his cravings, even the ones that involved bacon baked into waffle batter topped with more bacon. He plants his hands on either side of Jensen’s shoulders and contorts into a semi-push up, using every ounce of upper body strength available. Even like this, Jared’s belly hangs underneath him, solid as an anchor, half resting against Jensen’s flat middle. 

“Hurry up,” Jared cringes, “or this is gonna go south.” 

“You’re crazy.” 

“Jensen!” 

Jensen grabs his face and yanks him in for a quick series of heated, sloppy, messy kisses that are a mix of tongue and teeth. Predictably, Jared’s arms turn into noodles. Jensen helps him back to a sustainable position, straddling Jensen’s lap. Breathing hard, his face flushed, Jared takes off his sweater, tossing it behind him. His next challenge are his pajama pants, which are not nearly as easy to be rid of. They pause--for longer than Jared cares to admit--and wrangle them off of Jared. Jensen undresses without a problem. 

“Oh, whatever,” Jared snorts. “I’d like to see how well you’d do atmmphmmm…”

Jensen tilts them far back enough--his arms wrapped around Jared--for another kiss to happen. This time, Jensen’s hands find Jared’s chest. Just the hint of Jensen’s fingers teasing his nipples has Jared melting into a puddle. Jensen lies back down, clearly pleased with himself, and enjoys Jared’s rhythmic rocking and grinding. 

“Ah, ah, oh, fuck,” Jared groans, his hands on Jensen’s forearms. “Yes, yes, oh shit, Jen.” The first drops of milk spill out from his peaked, pink, full nipples. Jensen’s fingers, still slick with lotion, use those drops for more ease in circling around each one. His fingertips push against the tips, then squeeze, then circle, then flick, then grab--hard. 

Jared cries out, bracing himself on Jensen’s arms, watching as a spray of milk squirts onto Jensen’s chest and his own belly. 

There’s balance.

And then there’s need. 

Jensen yields. Jared takes. He reaches behind and sighs at the feel of Jensen’s hard, thick cock in his hand. He rubs his thumb over the sensitive head, payback, and slaps it against his ass. Green eyes flutter. Hands rub over Jared’s chest, then down to the swell of his stomach, and over the muscles in his thighs. 

“I’m so wet,” Jared murmurs. “Don’t need any… ahh…” Impatience does not allow him to finish his sentence. He rocks back against Jensen’s cock, the head pushing into him. Resistance gives way in a second. The head slides in, Jared holds it there for a moment, clenching around the underside of it, igniting nerves, sparking electricity. Jensen’s hips buck. His pouty pink mouth forms an exquisite, perfect O. 

The squelch of Jared taking Jensen in to the hilt intensifies their appetites. 

Seated, Jared adjusts, his muscles spasming over Jensen’s cock. Slick coats Jensen, drips down, making Jared’s ass and Jensen’s thighs sticky. The scent of Jared’s slick, his milk, and their sweat expands to the cathedral ceiling of their room. 

Voracious, Jared pins Jensen down with the weight of his belly, which Jensen cradles in his hands. He lifts his hips up. Then brings them down. Up. Down. Jensen’s cock pounds against several spots inside him, all of them deep, all of them fuel to the fire. Different angles produce different sensations. When he applies pressure to Jensen’s cock, using the muscles in his thighs and ass, the sounds produced from Jensen’s throat become throaty and rough. 

“So wet,” Jared pants, tilting back. He rests his hands on Jensen’s thighs, pushing his belly out, changing the angle of his hips. This is tighter. Hotter. Wetter. Jared lifts his hips and his belly high enough for Jensen to see a gush of slick drip out. 

“Ride me,” Jensen growls, seizing Jared’s ass, groping until his hands leave marks. “Fuck yourself on my cock.” 

No further command necessary. 

Their bed complains. The mattress squeaks. The headboard slams. Jared fucks himself open, in a frenzy as Jensen’s cock nudges and hits a certain bundle of nerves buried just out of reach. A craving strikes him. He wants Jensen harder. Faster. Deeper. His hips work in circles. Clockwise. Counterclockwise. Up. Down. Up. Down. Down. Down. Down. 

“Come,” Jensen orders. “Come for me, Jay.” 

Jared’s body responds. He comes untouched, come spurting from his cock. He can’t see it, but he knows that thick stripes of his come mark Jensen’s middle. His. All his. Always his. 

“Again, Jay. Come again.” 

“Oh, oh,  _ fuck _ .” Eyes squeezed close, Jared braces himself on Jensen’s chest. His belly bounces between them, heavy and round. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes… oh… Jen!” 

Two orgasms in a row force themselves out of Jared. He comes loud, desperate, and possessive. A few ropes of come hit Jensen’s lips, framing them, providing a pure white outline in contrast to that rosy, perfect pink. 

Wrecked and trembling, Jared stills his hips, trying to catch his breath. 

“Again,” Jensen demands. “Come again.”

“I-I can’t, oh god, I can’t.” 

“You can. Let it go. Let go. Come for me. Come for me.” 

“I… I... come on me, oh please, Jen. Please.” 

“Only if you come first. Do it. Come for me, Jay.” 

Jared tosses his head back. He rides Jensen one, two, three… and lets go. He stills his hips and relaxes, going slack, screaming when Jensen starts fucking up, into him, merciless in his thrusts, perfect in his aim. Jensen wrenches an orgasm from the deepest place inside Jared. 

“Coming! Jensen! I’m… oooh.” Jared groans, half sobbing, one hand on his massive belly, the other steadying his weight. Beads of milk drip from his chest. His ass clenches. His entire body winds up and releases. None of the noises produced from his mouth sound familiar. But he can feel his cock emptying all over Jensen. One rope of come lands on the bridge of Jensen’s nose. Freckles. Eyes. Mouth. Jaw. 

“Shit,” Jensen huffs, groping Jared’s ass. “I’m gonna come.” 

“On me, please, oh please, please, please, please.” 

“Fuck, fuck…” 

Jensen flips them, mindful of Jared. Now Jared lies on his back, stretched out, his belly shining from lotion, sweat, and milk. Jensen pulls out of Jared, strokes his cock and slaps the tip against the tender underside of Jared’s belly. His fist closes a fraction more, adding pressure to mimic being inside Jared. 

“Yours,” Jared moans. “Yours…” 

“Mine,” Jensen growls. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, hand working his cock, but opens them to see the first shot of come land across Jared’s belly. Jared comes again, weaker this time, but his cock responds to the sight of Jensen marking his heavy, rounded belly. Stripe after stripe of thick, sticky come laces Jared’s middle, covering up the stretch marks. 

Emptied out onto Jared, Jensen slurs a quick spell, his chest heaving almost as much as Jared’s. Immediately, Jensen settles next to Jared, kissing him filthy and raw. 

Jared sleeps through the afternoon. Jensen makes more lavender lotion. 

*

Apples play an important part in magic. 

They carry creative work. What is sent into the world will grow--under the right conditions. Apple magic is the magic of trust and renewal. 

Trust through abundance. 

Not a single apple from their orchard goes to waste. Jared makes everything from apple pies to apple donuts to apple butter to apple jam to apple bread. He collects the ones that fall during his walks through the orchard and gives them to Jensen. They are meant for something. Jensen figures out what. Apples make exceptional potions for creative minds, people in need of trust, and situations that require extra protection. 

What they do not use, Jared gives away. He never sells apples. That’s not anyway to repay the trees.

Three days overdue, Jared bags apples. 

He murmurs a small spell of good fortune after tying each bag. If his water doesn’t break today, he’ll deliver the bushel to town with Jensen tomorrow. At least something will get delivered in time for Halloween. 

Truvy said this might happen. She wasn’t afraid of Jared giving birth early, as would be the case with most people carrying triplets. No one is more powerful than when inside their parent. The babies draw from Jared’s power, nursing on it as they will soon nurse on his milk. Jared gives his power freely, but their offspring seem to have a special affinity for it. 

All he can do is wait. 

The longer he waits, the better chance they have of inheriting as much power as he is able to give. However, casting his apple spell, typically very simple and light, wears him out. And he’s not even halfway done. Sitting on a couch in the living room, Jared raises a hand to his temple. The babies dropped last night, but have refused to do much more. This has all left Jared uncomfortable, exhausted, and worried. 

This morning, he tried making the spoon in his cup of tea stir. 

It didn’t budge. 

Jensen left for the post office before Jared was up. It was probably for the best anyway, since if he’d have noticed the lack of motion from the spoon, he’d have canceled the trip. But people need their potions and spells. And in turn, they need their pay. They won’t get paid without product going out. 

Jared groans, hefting himself up from the couch, struggling to move. His body aches. The world seems covered by a delicate yet annoyingly cloudy veil. Even the weight of his favorite cable knit sweater presses down on him as he shuffles towards the kitchen. Tea. Tea will help. Definitely chamomile. And maybe a slice of cake. Or cheesy potatoes. Or both. But he should eat an apple. He’s eaten three every day since finding out he was carrying triplets and he’s only eaten two today.

Making tea requires a vast amount of energy and effort. His mother’s tea kettle fees like it weighs a tonne. Opening the cupboards to get the tea seems to take an eternity. Finally, he tosses a satchel of tea into his favorite mug, and moves to grab an apple from the basket on the counter. 

He picks the apple closest within reach and briefly thinks about how to eat it. Does he want to slice it and dip it in peanut butter? Or slather peanut butter directly onto the apple and bite into it? Or eat it as is? 

Slices win out. Another ponderously slow shuffle to the fridge and he captures the jar of peanut butter. Standing at the island, Jared places the apple on a cutting board. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to search for his pairing knife. Hunger and nausea fight each other as he cuts into the apple and the kettle boils. The snack and tea will make him feel better. And maybe a nap. A long nap. 

Just as Jared removes the first slice from the apple, his cell phone rings three times and only three times before cutting out. 

“Jensen,” Jared gasps, and sets down the apple and knife. Something in his back twinges as he reaches for his phone. As he swipes and presses redial, the apple on the cutting board catches his attention. His eyes go wide and he backs away quickly, knocking over the jar of peanut butter. 

“What’s wrong?” Jensen shouts through the phone. “Jared! What happened?” 

The kettle screeches. 

Jared cries out in pain, doubling over, clutching his belly with his free hand. 

“Black,” he pants, his water breaking over the tile. “It’s black inside, Jen. Uhnnghhh… ahh!” 

“Don’t hang up! I’m on my way. Don’t hang up, do you hear me, Jared?” 

It’s easy for Jared to mentally agree not to hang up. What isn’t easy is for him to keep the phone in his hand as the first contraction makes an appearance, piercing his body like his pairing knife pierced the apple. 

The third apple. It was only in the third apple. 

“Jen!” Jared yells, hoping Jensen hears him even though he’s dropped the phone. “Something’s… wrong! Oh… fuck!” 

Fatigue, pain, and exhaustion force Jared to cling to the island. His fingers slip on the granite countertop. His second contraction brings him down completely, knees buckling and landing hard on the floor. Instinct causes him to wrap his arms around his belly. A third contraction draws out a brutal scream from the well of his lungs. For all of his pain, tears don’t fall. This is pain beyond tears. It’s all crashing waves of nausea, dizziness, and scorching heat. He should breathe. He needs to breathe. But he can’t focus. Contractions blindsight him. The kettle keeps shrieking. And the apple stares at him from the countertop, in plain sight, accusatorily looming. 

Sounds slip out of the cell phone four feet away from him, but his mind refuses to process them. Maybe they’re words. Maybe they’re music. He has no idea. 

Clarity breaks through to him in the form of his body telling him one thing and one thing only: the first baby’s head is crowning. 

How could this happen? This way? So fast? Alone? 

He didn’t even have time to shove his pants down. Jared hobbles to one side, keeping his legs closed in an attempt to control his body. This is not what he had pictured. This is not what Truvy had prepared him for. He was supposed to give birth on their bed, Jensen holding his hand and Truvy at the helm of the birth. She has experience in multiples. She said delivery would be as easy as putting on her hijab. 

A contraction slams into Jared, hard enough to choke him and force his legs open. He isn’t in control of this. Nature is. 

And nature bellows at him to push. 

“I’m here… oh my god… Jared, I’m here.” Jensen rounds the island and drops to the floor, his right hand settling in its familiar place, while his left reaches down between Jared’s legs. “I’mhereI’mhereI’mhereI’mhere.” 

Jared moans, his head moving from side to side, his mind addled by pain. And something else. Something besides the apple creeps into the corner of his vision. 

“Truvy’s on her way. Jared. Stay with me. Jared. If you have to push, push. I got them.” 

Is it darkness or is that him passing out? 

“Holy shit, Jared! You’re bleeding!” That happens, doesn’t it? He expected some blood. Giving birth usually means there’s some mess. Jensen’s words become a blur again, though Jared catches a few words here and there--part spell, part pleading, part bargaining. 

A contraction lands, like a lightning bolt, and another follows, like thunder. 

Or is it the other way around? Thunder first? Then lightning? 

“You need to push, Jay. The head is out, but… the cord… neck... “ 

They’ll make it. They’re strong enough. They’ll know a lifetime of lavender lotion and spellwork after school and studying recipes read from crinkly parchment paper from hundreds of years ago. They’ll understand the irony of their birthday, Halloween Eve, and how a witch hasn’t worn a pointy hat since the Dark Ages. They’ll have their father. And the memories of his lost companion. 

No.

He isn’t giving up like that. 

Darkness pulls. Jared feels the rope. 

“Knife!” he cries out, his body twisted in pain. “Jen… knife!” 

“No! You’ve lost enough blood already. Truvy’s on her way, Jared.”

Darkness leans forward. Jared slips with it. It’s no one’s fault but Jared’s. He should have felt the energy. He should have paid more attention to his surroundings like his mother taught him. He spent too much time inside his own body when he should have felt around it. 

“Jensen!” Jared locks eyes with his partner. “I’m dying.”

Jensen’s hands are covered in Jared’s blood. 

“I have to try,” Jared whispers, his voice disappearing. “Knife.” 

He opens the palm of his left hand. Jensen hesitates a second. But Jared breathes a sigh of relief when he feels the handle of his pairing knife settle into his palm. 

Hand shaking, Jared brings his left hand up to meet his right, above his heart. The blade hits his right palm with a sting. Darkness forces Jared’s heart into an erratic, fluttering pace, leaving him unable to mutter the spell. 

Three times they went out on dates before they knew what was between them would last longer than one phase of the moon. Three times Jensen sang to him the night they made it official. Three apple pies Jared made for their first New Year’s together. 

Three years ago. 

“Your blood.” Jensen takes Jared’s left hand. “My blood.” He presses his right palm over Jared’s left. “Our blood.” 

Three times a year Jensen helps Jared clean his mother’s grave. 

Darkness doesn’t count on Jensen knowing the words.

“Fire, fire, fire, by the power of three, give fire control to me. Fire, fire, fire, show the light. Fire, fire, fire, don’t let my companion see the night. Let me use my fire, the fire is my desire, bring me my burning light. Don’t hurt my love. Don’t hurt them. This is my will. Make it be.” 

Jared’s eyes roll back. 

Power he never knew he had bursts open from the cavity in his chest. Black spots in the corners of his eyes disappear, receding, cowardly and pathetic. Rosemary on the gate. Salt over his shoulder. Three apples a day. Lavender in the garden. 

And in the lotion on his body. 

Jared grips Jensen’s hand and screams as he starts to push. 

“In here! Truvy, we’re in here!” 

People surround Jared. Someone slips an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. Allergies. Reactions. Medical history. Jensen lists it all off. But he never lets go of Jared’s hand. 

 

Good things come in threes.

All three babies survive. 

Balance. 

Sometimes, once in a great while, good things come in fours. 

Four blood transfusions and four weeks later, Jared becomes the fourth member of their family to leave the hospital. 

He laughs when Jensen gives him his welcome home present--his cereal bowl, pieced back together, something broken remade into something new and lovely. 

Jared fills the bowl with five apples. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! I'm a tad late but still! 
> 
> The song here is "My Dear Companion" by Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, and Emmylou Harris. I totally cried. I hope you did too. Just to be fair, you know. 
> 
> This is for my pal, my beta, my friend J. Hope you enjoy! Trick or treat! :D This was also inspired by a Halloween challenge where I picked the movie "Practical Magic." See if you can spot all the references to the movie. 
> 
> I hope y'all had a lovely Halloween. Now I'm off to bed because it's super late and omg what am I doing with my life... XD


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